


he makes my heart a cinemascope screen

by mywholecry



Category: Bandom, Jonas Brothers, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M, and someone of legal age kissing someone who is not, beat poet AU, kind of?, more like "vaguely historical AU", with poets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywholecry/pseuds/mywholecry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin finds Mike when he’s looking for his head in the club that’s two blocks from the high school. It’s this hole in the wall with smoke lingering up in the ceiling beams where the poets come out at night to read their verse and Kevin borrows the owner’s guitar and plays so pretty that they forget that he’s still sixteen and clumsy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he makes my heart a cinemascope screen

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally being written for the Valentine's Day thing as sodamnskippy, but then I lost my prompts. It's also kind of an introduction to a larger universe (I haven't pinned down whether it's a Beat AU or what), but I don't know if I'll ever pick it up.

Kevin’s dad says he was born with a rhythm in his heart, and he hasn’t stopped chasing it since. When he was fourteen, they handed him a guitar, and when he was sixteen, he dropped it five stories when he was playing to the men who hung out in the alley below their apartment to smoke. It shattered into too many pieces to put back together; one of the men whistled low and gathered the remains for him. The coiled strings shine on his lampshade but the smooth wood got sacrificed for the fireplace once winter hit.

Without it, Kevin plays senseless beats on every available surface while his brothers moan and his mom takes his hands and says, “Put that energy to good use,” and leads him to the dirty dishes. He curls his fingers around imaginary chords under the water and tries to get the music back in his head. 

He breaks two mugs, and his mother sighs around a smile, says, “Where is your head, Kev.” 

Kevin isn’t really sure. He thinks he might have dropped it in the alley, too. 

*

Kevin finds Mike when he’s looking for his head in the club that’s two blocks from the high school. It’s this hole in the wall with smoke lingering up in the ceiling beams where the poets come out at night to read their verse and Kevin borrows the owner’s guitar and plays so pretty that they forget that he’s still sixteen and clumsy. 

Mike reads a poem that Kevin doesn’t understand, all deep voice and dirty hair falling in his eyes, flannel shirt untucked. 

When Kevin plays later, sitting on the bar with a couple of the girls who always seem to be there humming along, Mike stares at him with dark eyes and a smile that won’t stop. He stares at him like he really sees Kevin, not just hears the way he’s trained his fingers to sing for him, and maybe that’s why Kevin lets Mike lead him into the bathroom after and crowd him up against the wall. 

Mike kisses like he reads his poetry, fingers pinning Kevin in place, teeth leaving ink stains on the side of his neck that he’ll have to hide with high collars or stories about the pretty girl who’s been leaving notes in his locker and wants to go to Homecoming together. 

Mike tastes like coffee and cigarette smoke and, when they’re leaving together at the end of the night, he slips a matchbox into Kevin’s hands. His number is scrawled on the inside in pencil, and Kevin hides it under his bed, tucked into the corner. 

*

One night, when he knows everyone is asleep, he sits between the sofa and the radio and holds the phone in his lap. 

Mike says, “I can’t believe you taught yourself how to play like that,” and Kevin smiles at the dark room so hard that he almost forgets to say anything back. 

When he stutters out, “I needed something to do with my hands,” Mike laughs. It’s low and sweet and Kevin’s never felt like this. He curls his toes and breathes into the phone, and Mike says, “I can think of a few things you can do with them, kid.” 

Kevin blushes and chokes, and they make plans to meet the next day.

*

At the club, Kevin teaches Mike to play guitar in the back room, sitting behind him to correct his fingers. It’s early enough that there are only a handful of people drinking out front, and it’s quiet, just him and his chest pressed up to Mike’s back, offering advice in his ear. 

Mike says, “When you graduate, we should take this show on the road.” 

Mike should be a senior right now, a few months past eighteen, but he got kicked out of his house and dropped out of school. He lives in an apartment with a few of his friends, and they’ll love Kevin, he promises. 

“Your words are better than my music,” Kevin says. 

“Bullshit,” Mike replies. He turns at the waist, still holding onto the guitar, and kisses Kevin until he can’t think about anything but Mike and Mike’s mouth and the sound of the strings when his fingers clench and release, clench and release.


End file.
